


doctor, doctor

by brahe



Category: Houdini & Doyle (TV)
Genre: Coda, In Manus Dei, M/M, Mostly Fluff, That hospital scene, but with more kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scene were Doyle rushes to the hospital after receiving the telegram about Houdini's accident, rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	doctor, doctor

**Author's Note:**

> First work for this fandom!! Ahh ok so this show had ruined my life and I ship this so hard and basically I'm in hell.  
> I'm not sure I like the way this ends but oh well. Start somewhere, right?

He heart sinks into his stomach as he reads the telegram.

  
_Show accident. Houdini in hospital._

  
He makes his excuse half-heartedly and leaves the room in a rush. He's running on auto as he hails a carriage, his mind preoccupied with all the scenarios, all the possible conditions he could find Harry in.

  
Getting into the hospital is easy. He's shown to Houdini's room and handed a file. He flips through it as he shoulders the door open, but his attention is immediately drawn to the figure on the bed. Houdini is unconscious, looking as pale as the sheets pulled up to his chin.

  
Doyle sits on the end of the bed and lets out the breath he'd been holding. Houdini is, thankfully, in one piece. Doyle curls his hand around Harry's leg and opens the folder again.

  
_Fever, nausea, dehydration..._

  
Doyle sighs and looks at Harry. He looks very young and fragile in a way Doyle would have never expected. Whether or not he'll admit it to himself, Doyle had quickly grown very fond of him.

  
He absent-mindedly rubs his thumb along Harry's thigh as he shifts the papers in the folder. There's an x-ray underneath pages of half-filled medical history documents.

Doyle's brow furrows as he looks it over once, twice; triple checking the scan because there's no way he's reading it right. Only the facts don't change as he stares at it, and he realizes with a deep feeling of dread what this means for his friend.

  
An hour of restless pacing and aborted angry yelling culminates in Doyle back on the edge of the bed, this time leaning over Harry. He smacks his cheek twice, heart lurching into his throat when groggy blue eyes peer up at him.

  
"Thank god," Doyle breaths, not really meaning to say it out loud. Houdini squints at him.

  
"...'rthur?"

  
"You're an idiot."

  
Houdini blinks as Doyle glares, clearing his vision. He bends an elbow and struggles to push himself up into a sitting position.

  
"Nice to see you too," he says.

  
"What were you thinking?" Doyle is off the bed and pacing again. "You could've killed yourself. You almost did!"

  
"Except I didn't."

  
"When are you going to realize you're not immortal?" Doyle is facing him now, angry and frustrated and hurt. "You're not infallible, you're not impervious; you're human!"

  
Houdini keeps his mouth shut, watching his friend shake his head in an anger he doesn't fully understand.

  
"And this?" Doyle shakes the x-ray at him. "I would ask if you know was this is, but you must feel it constantly. Why do you put yourself through this?"

  
"I've learned to live with the pain. I don't feel it much anymore."

  
"That, right there, is what's going to get your very _human_ ass killed!" Doyle sighs and closes his eyes. His tone softens.

  
"You need to take care of yourself, Harry, or you'll run yourself into an early grave."

  
Houdini doesn't know how to respond to that. It's a raw and honest admission of feelings unlike anything else in his life.

  
"Why did you come?" Houdini asks. It's blunt and almost accusatory, and not at all what Doyle was expecting.

  
"Because I worry about you," Doyle replies, and it's surprisingly easy to say, despite its honesty.

  
There's a short silence where their gazes meet, and Doyle loses himself a little in those blue, blue eyes he thought he might never see again.

  
"Who sent me the telegram?"

  
Houdini takes a breath. "You're listed as my attending physician, should I ever need one."

  
Doyle raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a long moment, as if absorbing the information and trying to determine what to do with it.

  
"Why me?"

  
"I want you to be the first to know, if anything ever happens," Houdini tries to shrug, but he's too sore. "Besides, I trust you."

  
"Yes, but why?" Doyle asks, retaking his seat beside Houdini's arm. Houdini swallows. He could stop this conversation now, bring it back to a realm he's comfortable in with, but he bites his tongue. He wants to see this one to the end.

  
"For the same reason you're here now, fussing over me."

  
It's a shot in the dark until it isn't. Houdini watches the emotions shift across Arthur's face, shock to embarrassment and then acceptance. Everything hangs in stillness for a heartbeat, two, three, and then they're kissing. Doyle presses him back into the bed, opening his mouth with a gentle press of his tongue and swallowing Houdini's soft sounds.

  
"Wow, Doc," Houdini mutters between their lips. "I would never have guessed that you'd be such a good kisser."

  
"You're not the only one full of surprises," Doyle replies, letting his lips curl into a smirk. Houdini kisses it away and fists his hands in Doyle's waistcoat, pulling him over fully onto the bed.

  
"You're still unwell," Doyle says, pushing himself up onto his hands.

  
"Well, _Doctor_ ," Houdini says, and the way the title rolls off his tongue implies nothing about the practice of medicine. He tugs Doyle back down to him. "I'm open to your expertise."

  
This round of kissing is significantly less exploratory and much more passionate. When Doyle's tongue pushes against the seam of Houdini's lips again, Harry pulls away.

  
"Hm, Arthur," he hums, "We don't want you to get sick."

  
"I think it's a little late for that," Doyle replies, lips moving along Harry's smooth jaw.

  
"Of course," Houdini rather enthusiastically agrees, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

  
Doyle's kisses are lazy and sensual and so very unlike anything else Houdini has done. He sinks into it, lets the feeling wash over him. His body aches and there’s a faint pounding behind his eyes, but he ignores it in favor of _this_ , which is a much better focus.

  
Doyle pushes himself up on his hands again after a while. Houdini lets his eyes open slowly, takes in the way Arthur’s hair is mussed and his lips red.

  
“You need to rest,” he says. Houdini sighs.

  
"I am resting."

  
Doyle's look is pointed. "Elevated pulse, tight muscles; this isn't resting."

  
Houdini huffs. "Fine. Let’s see what we have here, then,” he says, and Doyle looks mildly frustrated. “Messy hair, swollen lips, blown pupils…"

  
“Harry…” Doyle says, and he can’t tell if it’s a warning or an invitation. Harry, as always, takes the risk.

  
"I prescribe," he says slowly, running his hands down Doyle's sides, "several hours in bed with favorable company," he pauses to press a chaste kiss to his lips, "and mild exercise."

  
"I see." Doyle looks almost serious, and Houdini wants to reach up and kiss the hesitation off his face. So he does.

  
"Come on, Arthur," he mumbles between their lips. " _Let go_."

  
He can feel the moment when Doyle completely gives in, surrendering to _this_ , their lips moving against each other and their bodies moving together. It's heady and delightful and nothing Doyle ever wants to stop.

  
Thankfully, Houdini doesn't seem inclined to do so anytime soon.


End file.
